Inspiration to live a little richer, breathe a little deeper and appreciate a little more fully

If you live in Texas, chances are, you’ve heard of Cedar Fever, a common ailment of those who live in the Hill Country. It is, ironically, not actually a fever, nor is it caused by cedar. It is an allergic response to the pollen from the ashe juniper tree (juniperus ashei), commonly known as the mountain juniper (or mountain cedar), which is found all over the Edwards Plateau. Curious as to why these Junipers got stuck with the name of cedar? Pop over here for those details.

For those that suffer from the infamous cedar fever, symptoms range from runny nose and itchy eyes to fatigue and congestion. While the pollen counts are typically highest during the winter, Cedar season can stretch well into March. Not a fun time for those that are affected (as this author so well articulates).

William was happy to demonstrate the release of the pollen although we saw plenty of clouds of pollen being released by the wind without William’s help.

For the rest of us, though, Ashe Junipers are an interesting study. Ashe Junipers are in the Cypress family. They are dioecious, meaning there are male and female trees. The female variety has delightful blue fruit that closely resembles a berry, but is in actuality a modified cone; the males produce cones that hold the pollen that leads to the dreaded cedar fever.

Last year we visited Balcones Canyonlands and hiked through dense ashe juniper growth, not really stopping to appreciate the complexity of the junipers. So recently when we did some camping at Lost Maples, we seized the opportunity to learn more.

At Balcones Canyonlands there were Ashe Junipers as far as we could see.

Ashe Junipers literally cover the landscape along the Edwards Plateau. I went back through our old pictures from campgrounds in the Hill Country and sure enough, there was the Ashe Juniper dotting the background of the vast majority of our photos.

Entering the East Trail at Lost Maples brought us up close and personal to an Ashe Juniper grove.

Upon close examination by the children, we made quite a few little interesting notes.

On the St. Edward’s Trail in Austin, Katie discovered the joy of the cedar smell on the Ashe Junipers.

First of all, the leaves, which are scale-like, give off a delightful cedar smell when rubbed between little fingers. (I seriously wash about as much in juniper leaves as I do in socks…pretty sure my kids fill their pockets with the cedar-smelling leaves of every tree they pass because who doesn’t love the smell of cedar?) The foliage of the Ashe Juniper stays a lovely dark green throughout the winter, whereas the foliage of the Eastern Red Juniper changes to something of an olive green to a yellowish green, often turning bronze during the winter season.

The fruit, a berry-look-alike, are blue and apparently make an easy addition to a nature journal as a few of the kids chose to make that tiny fruit the star of their journaling page. The “berry” produced is not the juniper berry used medicinally nor is it the berry used to make gin, but it is a favorite amongst birds and wildlife critters like deer, raccoons, and coyotes.

Ashe Junipers are multi-trunked (making it easy to differentiate between the Ashe Juniper and the single-trunked Eastern Red Juniper, both of which have blue fruit; the other Junipers in Texas have red fruit). The bark of the Ashe Juniper is seriously so fun! It flakes off in long strips which makes it an enticing find for the rare Golden Cheeked Warblers who use it to make their nests. The bark also has white rings on it (again, unlike the Eastern Red Juniper), which is why it is commonly referred to as white cedar.

We could easily spot the female trees with their fruit and soon found ourselves quickly spotting the male trees with their cones which are essentially their pollen sacs. The flower is produced in the winter, with fruit maturing in the summer and fall and then seeds being dispersed during the winter.

Here I am holding a small twig taken off of a male tree beside the branch of a female tree.

I’m not entirely sure, but this looks remarkably like a juniper gall.

Another gall on the male variety?

Here are the infamous pollen sacs on the male trees.

Here are the modified cones of the female trees, the blue “fruit” of the Ashe Juniper.

So tell me what you see when you look at this photo…(you should be able to identify the Ashe Junipers and tell me which are male and which are female!)

{Being intentional is so much easier done when we slow down and really look around us. Personally, we spend a lot of time in nature, partly because we follow a Charlotte Mason education, but mostly because it keeps us intentional in our thoughts and actions. I invite you, in these Nature Study posts, to join us in our intentional journey…to train your eye to be observant, to relish the intricacies of the amazing world we live in and to spend more time with the people you love stopping to smell the roses, so to speak. If you are in the South Texas area (Corpus Christi and the surrounding cities), then you’ll find these nature lessons tailored perfectly to you and your family…see if you can find what we’re finding! If you live somewhere beyond our beautiful little corner of the world then use these lessons as a springboard…see what we’re observing, allow yourself to be inspired and then just get out there and be intentional, observant, and grateful for all the little surprises right outside your back door.}

Sometimes we get so focused on whatever it is we’re doing, whatever task we’re completing, whatever thing we’re checking off our to-do list, that we fail to notice the beauty surrounding us. And it’s everywhere. We just have to open our eyes and slow down a bit.

Being intentional is easier said than done. It’s easier imagined than executed. So here’s where we inspire you every week with a simple picture and a few words. Think of this as a chance to help you realize the simplicity of intentional.

Be inspired. Allow gratitude and joy and beauty to sneak in with every intention. And then won’t you come back and share your moment with us? Or leave a link in the comments to your blog where you celebrate {A Glimpse into an Intentional Life}.

Yesterday was New Year’s Eve. I had planned to sit down and reflect on the year that was and the year that is to come. Instead I spent the day on the couch shielding my eyes from light and trying to block out the noise of my rambunctious children while I nursed myself back to health from an annoying virus.

I thought about the day. It had been awful…not just because I felt miserable but because I let my misery drive my actions. I had barked at my kids, shooed them away, and tried my best to ignore them.

Some days are like that. There are good days and bad days and days in between. There are days we reflect on as we lay in bed at night and wish we had done everything differently; there are days we look back upon with joy and gratitude; there are days that thankfully end when our heads hit the pillows; there are days that drag into the next. There are wasted days and thoughtfully spent days. Joyful days and sorrowful days.

Years can be that way, too.

Some years are amazing; some are rough. Some start out rough and end beautifully. Some years we claim to be our best ever while other years passed by uneventfully marked, but no less lived.

But the beauty is that just as each new day offers a new beginning, so does a new year. The new year brings us each a gift…a book with our name on the cover, followed by 365 pages. 365 blank pages just waiting to be filled by the way we choose to live. 365 opportunities. 365 pages just waiting to be written.

Some days, some years, they just seem less intentional. Begun without a clear direction of where we’re headed.

The root word of resolution is resolve, which, by definition, means to decide firmly on a course of action. On the other hand, intend, by definition, means to design something for a particular purpose.

I delight in that thought…to design something for a particular purpose. It sounds poetic and lofty without the weight of a firm decision. My mindset morphs from something to struggle beneath to something to strive for just by changing a word.

When we choose to live with intention, we open up a whole new world to ourselves. No longer do we get to the end of our days wondering where those 24 hours went or look back at the month and rack our brains wondering what we did this month. When we live with intention, we live in this moment, with purpose. And living with intention, at its simplest, is being an active participant in our own lives.

It’s about this moment right now and how this moment will set the path for our future days. While the past tends to influence us, it doesn’t dictate a path for us, so don’t waste time wallowing. We are only promised this moment right now and when we live it with intention, that intention helps us stay the path that we so desperately want our lives to follow. Living intentionally isn’t the same as carpe diem. Carpe diem is a Latin phrase meaning seize the day, but the meaning is meant to apply to the present only; to not be concerned about the future, whereas living with intention is living with a purpose. Living with a purpose implies that it isn’t just about the here and now, but it’s about purpose for all things yet to come. All 365 days yet unlived.

It’s January 1st. I’ve managed to do the dishes, wash the clothes and take a nap. I still feel miserable. This certainly isn’t how I wanted to write the first day of 2019, but there’s still something intentional about using this time wisely, both to heal and to think. I don’t want 2019 to be the year remembered for the shows I watched or the Facebook feed I scrolled through. I don’t want to wake up this time next year and wonder where my 365 opportunities disappeared to. I want this year to be remembered for the intentional moments. The moments I lived with purpose. What are your intentions for 2019?

For the first 9 years of having kids, I operated from the second perspective. Then beginning a year and a half ago, I felt some pressure to enroll my kids in a few extra-curricular activities. It started out innocently enough. A ballet class over the summer for Katie to try it out. A few piano lessons to guide the big boys in their music abilities. A private strings lesson every now and then for Joseph and Andrew so they’d feel comfortable when orchestra started in the fall. Everyone else was doing it. Why not us?

Summer ended and all had gone well. Katie loved ballet. Joseph and William loved piano. Strings lessons were lovely. So now we began to add things to the schedule in true passionate style. If we were already going to be at orchestra for strings and guitar lessons, why not enroll in choir as well? Ballet once a week…no, let’s make it twice! And, of course, we had our CM co-op that we had joined the previous year, with Shakespeare class first followed by all the riches (nature study, composer and artist study, folk songs). I continued meeting with my book club and my herb group and my mom’s group, all of which met once a month.

In the fall, we piled on the Nature Challenge and couldn’t resist committing ourselves to completing as many as possible. Then midwinter, we added in Youth Odyssey for Joseph. Spring brought the Handicraft fair and nature study days with the CM group.

It didn’t seem like that much. And ALL of it was good. Maybe not great, but good.

But a funny thing happened when we committed ourselves to so many good things. Seeing as how our time didn’t multiply, other things had to be cut. We kissed days of lazily lounging in the sun with a good book good-bye. Play dates (the kind where us moms sit and chat while the kids run wild and free) were cut…and I rationalized that with all the activities, they had plenty of social time. Both of my blogs took direct hits. Even my evenings out with other moms began to feel more like work than play.

Suddenly every.little.thing began to feel like work. I needed downtime. Not time in the car toting us to the next activity. Not time shoved in a waiting room making small talk with other moms while waiting for the kids to finish up. Not time stuck in the car trying to manage tired kids and their unruly behavior while waiting for the other siblings to finish their activity.

We all began to suffer.

Andrew was the first to descend with a downward dive. By Christmas, his enthusiasm for orchestra waned (which was a multi-fold situation…the private lessons he took over the summer put him ahead and he found himself bored; his ADHD tendencies reared their ugly head when he was forced to sit quietly and bored through a 50 minute class every week) and he quickly lost steam. Co-op became a method of torture for him as he had to sit quietly first through an hour of Shakespeare (in which he was too young to participate) and then another two hours of co-op time in which his little mind wandered and he obsessed about being quiet to the point that he took nothing away from the lessons except hatred, the byproduct of being forced to sit and be quiet for so long. I suffered watching him. The joy of nature lessons left. The joy of playing an instrument was gone. The joy of playing joyfully with other children was a distant memory. In one fell swoop, I had managed to forget that he isn’t me; nor is he Joseph or William or Katie. I had forgotten that my little ADHD introvert didn’t operate in this world the same as us. (I did pull Andrew out of orchestra by March in an effort to not completely kill a love for music; I strongly feel that music should be an outlet for stress, not a cause for stress.)

Then William began complaining of headaches every Monday during his orchestra lessons. Then he began complaining of headaches every time we met for co-op. He did fine at his private lessons. He did fine during his school lessons. He did fine at play dates. My only guess is that the whole group setting was causing a little stress. The bigger the group, the more I noticed his stress level went up (I totally get him…big groups have always stressed me out, too).

But I am not one to quit. Nor do I want to send the message to my kids that quitting is okay. We were so close to the finish line so we dug in and plowed through. By April, I found myself burnt out, not even responding to text messages in a timely manner. I almost forgot what my dear mother’s voice sounded like.

At the end of the year, I looked back and I saw what our toil had reaped. I had two boys that could play piano as well as a strings instrument. Katie knew the proper name for many different ballet positions and danced beautifully in front of hundreds of people at her spring recital. Joseph made friends of his own, apart from the rest of us, in Youth Odyssey and had kayaked with his group to a little island, proving to himself that he can do amazing things without me. The kids had been exposed to beautiful art and folk songs through co-op, learned a multitude of nature related things and had succeeded in falling in love with two more of Shakespeare’s plays. Oh and all of my children had lovingly set their hearts to making beautiful handicrafts for the fair.

I, on the other hand, had spent my year talking. Between the moms at ballet in the waiting room and the moms suffering through long hours at orchestra with me to the moms in the front yard of the piano teacher’s home, I managed to expel a lot of words out of my desperate extroverted soul. But even I got tired of talking. I missed reading. I missed blogging. I missed the sound of my kids just playing.

I collapsed into June with the promise to never make so many commitments again. While I saw all the beauty of our commitments, I greatly grieved for the time we sacrificed to make those things happen. I really, really missed inviting Jessica and the boys over to just play while Jessica and I chatted. I really, really missed long afternoons in the spring sunshine clacking away at a blog while my kids ran about and discovered lovely little spring bloomings. I really, really missed long conversations with Lori and Leslie and Mom. I really, really missed elaborate sidewalk sketchings and walks through our neighborhood. I really missed that Masterly Inactivity that Charlotte Mason implores each of us to offer to our children.

Of course, August soon came around and I re-evaluated. A break from co-op was in order. No more orchestra. We dropped Youth Odyssey. I let go of my book club and changed my herb meetings to quarterly (but I still clung desperately to the monthly mom’s group for the support).

The fall came and we tentatively stepped back into our routines, preserving two days a week to have free afternoons with absolutely NO COMMITMENTS. The children still play music (all four are now in piano), Katie still takes ballet, Joseph now sings with the Youth Choir and for a brief bit of the fall, William took an adventure in baseball (that’s a whole different story that was drastically altered by heavy amounts of rain). I started a small group for PE one afternoon a week. All of it feels good. And fruitful. But not too filling.

It’s hard to learn to say no to the good to make room for the great, but it must be done. It must be done to preserve our children’s childhoods, to give them time to run and play and be bored. It must be done to preserve our own sanity as mamas because we, too, need downtime. It must be done because we are all only human and there is only so much time in our days…we must learn to carve a space for the great, leave time for the necessary, and relish the time in between…we don’t get a second chance at this.

I once saw an Instagram post where the author implored her readers to allow their children to grieve. They had recently lost a pet and she was allowing them the space to honor that loss. I almost flicked right past it but instead I found myself just staring, reflecting on how we all need to be allowed time to grieve. Not just for the obvious moments like death, but for all the changes that come our way…the big, the small, and the moments in between.

This life is ever-changing and sometimes, to appreciate this moment, we have to stop and grieve the loss of what we loved, what we hoped for, and what we held close to us…no matter how small the loss may be perceived by the world around us.

This time last year I was broken. I was pregnant for the second time since Katie and there was no heartbeat. Hope died with the 3rd ultrasound and I wept with the love only a mom can feel. My heart was sad. My kids were sad. The days were dark, both literally and figuratively, and I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, pull the covers over my head and sleep the winter away. But I pressed on. I did not pause.

I dealt with the drama of knowing the baby was no longer viable but waiting for that sweet little soul to pass (all through the holidays) along with a trip to the ER for excessive bleeding in the midst of all the loss. By the time that baby finally passed, school had started back up along with all of the extra-curricular activities and I did not pause.

I listened to my children, disappointed with the loss, scared that maybe we’d never be given the opportunity again. They cried, they poured out their vulnerable little hearts and I stood strong. I let them grieve. But I did not.

Until I finally did.

Because you just can’t move forward when you haven’t accepted the past.

Because grieving is the balm that heals the soul. It’s intentional. It’s important. It’s hope wrapped up with trust and love and vulnerability laid bare.

Because to allow myself to grieve allowed me to finally accept what was. What is. What may never be.

I was broken for a long time this year. Without even realizing how broken I was. I was sad and unsorted and not myself. I stopped writing, I stopped thinking, I stopped hoping. Until I grieved. In my own ways, in my own time, in my own little corner of the world. I settled my unsettled feelings and allowed myself to wallow in my sadness. And only then did I begin to heal.

We laid that little baby to rest alongside my other little souls waiting in heaven, right beside my sister’s little babies and there was peace in my soul. A peace that only comes from accepting what is.

Being intentional is easier said than done. It’s easier imagined than executed. So here’s where we inspire you every week with a simple picture and a few words. Think of this as a chance to help you realize the simplicity of intentional.

Be inspired. Allow gratitude and joy and beauty to sneak in with every intention. And then won’t you come back and share your moment with us? Or leave a link in the comments to your blog where you celebrate {A Glimpse into an Intentional Life}.

There is a cycle to this life. It begins with birth and ends with death. All the moments in between are up to us. Either they can be passed right by or lived with intention.

Choose to live with intention.

Being intentional is easier said than done. It’s easier imagined than executed. So here’s where we inspire you every week with a simple picture and a few words. Think of this as a chance to help you realize the simplicity of intentional.

Be inspired. Allow gratitude and joy and beauty to sneak in with every intention. And then won’t you come back and share your moment with us? Or leave a link in the comments to your blog where you celebrate {A Glimpse into an Intentional Life}.

Outside my window…it is mid-80s and beautiful but oh so full of mosquitoes!

I am remembering…National Good Neighbor Day. Yep, that’s really a thing (which I learned about from this fabulous book that will leave you finding reasons to fall in love with your city).

The kids spent the morning baking cookies…which ended up being a bake-off sponsored by Andrew…winner got a free back rub from him {which is seriously a prize worth winning!}. The boys won with their butterscotch cookies…apparently butterscotch chips were much more exciting than the chocolate chips that Katie and I used (personally I preferred the chocolate chip cookies, but that could be my jealousy talking…I was really hoping to win that back rub). The afternoon was spent making pictures and decorating notes to tell our neighbors just how much we love them. Of course, the best part was delivering it all.

I am thankful for…that there are people in this world willing to dissect animals with my kids.

I am watching…nothing these days. I’m trying to catch up on my reading.

I am wondering…why, at 37, I still often get up from bed and go straight to the couch…oh wait, I think it’s because I can’t resist snuggling all of these warm little bodies. Usually it’s just me and Midnight for a bit and then William bounces out around 7, followed closely by Joseph. At some point, Katie and Andrew sleepily walk in and climb into the only quiet and subdued moment of our day.

I amhoping…Katie outgrows this phase of walking around and saying, “I have nothing TO DO” before I go crazy.

I am pondering…all of these plants around me. So.many.amazing.plants.

I am praying… that I successfully fill my children’s days and memories with wonder, beauty and truth and trust that their endings will turn out as amazing as I imagine them to be…oh how I wish I could write the endings myself.

I am laughing…about this video put together by my brother-in-law, Dustin. William was seriously so enamored when he watched it…I wish I had recorded his face. It’s William’s dream…to be in a movie where he’s shooting spells (curse that Harry Potter). William happens to be the kid with a bit of OCD…so we now have about 15 wands that he’s whittled, painted and decorated to perfection.

I am admiring…Daxson for overcoming his hatred of sand and taking us out to barbecue at the beach this weekend. I could seriously spend every waking moment at the beach and be a happy person.

I am planting…seeds for a medicinal garden. It’s probably not the right time of year for them or maybe it’s too hot or too late, but then again, they’re all technically considered weeds, so maybe it’ll all work out.

I am reflecting…on a visit from Auntie Jane and Neva this past weekend.

In the schoolroom…we began brainstorming today for our oral history family project…I’m excited to see what blooms from such a process.

Around the house…I am asking the kids {right this moment} to pick up every.single.tiny.Lego for the umpteenth time today. Oh and the pencils. Why? Why are there at least 14 pencils on the floor at the end of every day?

In the kitchen…I suppose I should consider cooking something for dinner.

I am wearing…gray shorts and a long sleeve gray shirt. And sometimes leg warmers because this 80 degree weather is apparently making me cold.

We are preparing for…a fall camping trip. I hope. Life is busy and the mosquitoes are crazy, but we are craving the outdoors and the simplicity of a week in the woods.

Someday I am going to miss…this little gang of boys begging to go for a walk to the duck pond.

One of my favorite things…Auntie Jane. She has always been one of my favorites 😉

A peek into my day…Katie’s friend Eza went with us to ballet yesterday and the two of us kept our faces plastered to the window delighting in Katie’s every move. It was nice to see the repetition of her ballet class through fresh little eyes. Every now and then Eza would leave the window to mimic Katie’s dance steps…I seriously wanted to join her.

A few weeks ago, Jessica and I had taken the kids to the trails out at Hilltop for a nature walk (no journals or object lessons, just a stroll through field and trees to see what was in bloom) and, as always, we found ourselves stumped by plant after plant (this whole botany thing is a long journey!). Jessica and I tend to spend a whole lot of time saying, “Ooh, I wonder what this is!”

But slowly we’re learning and gaining confidence in our identification skills. It’s a slow going journey, but by going slow, there’s time to absorb what we’re learning and look for it everywhere we go. Our newest find (which Jessica already knew and pointed out to me!) is the Brasil, a deciduous tree or shrub that grows well down here. We found it in abundance out on the local trails so we took the kids this past week for an object lesson.

The Brasil (Condalia hookeri) is also known as the Bluewood Condalia or the Brazilian Bluewood and is a member of the Buckthorn family.

The kids observed the leaves and found them to be simple, alternate, glossy, small and bright. After describing the shape of the leaves (they described them as some being oval and some being spoon shaped), I taught them that in botany, those are called obovate (oval) and spatulate (like a spatula) blades. The margins of the leaves are smooth to weakly toothed toward the tip. A fun little fact is that the leaves are host to the Snout Butterfly.

I also introduced the kids to the botanical term pinnate vein which is present on the leaves of the Brasil. A pinnate vein is one main vein extending from base to tip with smaller veins branching off.

The kids quickly noticed the sharp thorns at the tip of each branch. I had to do a little research of my own to find out exactly what qualifies as a thorn…it’s not as simple as I thought. Turns out there are basically three botany terms for sharp points on plants: thorns, spikes and prickles. While each of them is a defense mechanism and each is incredibly sharp and pointed, they are formed in different ways. Thorns are modified branches; spikes are modified leaves; prickles are an outgrowth from the epidermis. Those sharp tips on a rose plant are actually prickles while the sharp tips on a cactus are spines. The sharp tips at the end of the Bluewood Condalia’s branches are thorns. You can read more about the difference here or here.

The wood on the Bluewood Condalia appears red but yields a blue dye. Pioneers used the bark chips to make red ink.

Of course, our favorite fact about the Brasil is that the berry-like drupes are edible. They begin as a red fruit but ripen to a blue-black fruit. They’re sweet and juicy and loved by squirrels, raccoons, opposums and birds (and clearly by Gavin, whose mouth turned a bit blue temporarily from all the fruit he ate!). We just like to nibble on them, but I’m sure if we were a bit more industrious and could brave all those thorns and collect enough, they’d make a delightful jelly.

The flowers, when present, are small and inconspicuous and almost a light green.

Ironically, after the object lesson (and the fruit tasting), Jessica read Rapunzel to us…it sure made us wonder if, when the prince fell out of the tower, he landed on a Brasil shrub…it’s certainly a possibility. Please learn from him…be careful around thorny plants!

**Even though I have researched these plants thoroughly and feel confident in my identification skills of the plants discussed here, you should still always do your own research before teaching your kids and definitely before eating any plant…there are a lot of look-alikes out there and not everything that looks good IS good! I strongly urge you to find a Master Naturalist or a foraging guide in your area to help you properly identify plants before you do any foraging and please be sure to obey all laws and follow foraging ethics.**

{this moment} – A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. If you’re inspired to do the same, visit Soulemama to leave a link to your ‘moment’ in the comments for all to find and see.

Sending Intentional Thoughts Your Way

Full Disclosure

With Every Intention is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program so while following our journey, if you happen to click on a link for an Amazon product and make a purchase, we receive a small Amazon credit. Our hearths, homes and wallets sincerely thank you for being so intentional in your shopping.